


Dearest friend, return

by Serpentsign



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: A buddy of mine told me Baze Malbus has an eightpack - that he is shredded, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, First Time, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate use of Zama-Shiwo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentsign/pseuds/Serpentsign
Summary: A light touch against his side, just below his ribs drew his attention to the man sleeping beside him. Chirrut was curled close to him, his hand resting lightly on Baze’s bare skin. His fingers moved imperceptibly along a raised scar that curved from the back of his ribcage to the front. The faint hum of the vibroblade was all that has saved him from getting stabbed in the back that day, Baze claimed. Chirrut would argue that the Force had willed it, if he ever told him about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently the Rogue One sticker encyclopedia (I know, I know, we're starving for information here) said that Baze had left Jedha and Chirrut behind for many years after he lost his faith. So, homecoming blowjobs?

 

Baze woke up, warm and content. It was dark outside still, the wooden window cover that was missing a slat didn’t reveal anything but dark night sky and twinkling stars. Baze blinked slowly and let his eyes get used to the darkness but didn’t move his head. Too many years as a mercenary had taught him to feign sleep for as long as possible if something woke you up. It got you the upper hand on whoever was trying to sneak up on you. The room was small, just enough space for a washing stand in the corner and a wide mattress on the floor. Everything was quiet around him, the Imperial-imposed curfew made sure that no one was out in the streets at night. There was no reason for him to be awake.

A light touch against his side, just below his ribs drew his attention to the man sleeping beside him. Chirrut was curled close to him, his hand resting lightly on Baze’s bare skin. His fingers moved imperceptibly along a raised scar that curved from the back of his ribcage to the front. The faint hum of the vibroblade was all that has saved him from getting stabbed in the back that day, Baze claimed. Chirrut would argue that the Force had willed it, if he ever told him about it.

After Baze had come back from his time off-world with a mercenary band, almost a week ago, they had fallen back together. Baze had come looking for Chirrut but when he did find him, it felt like perhaps it was the other way around. Chirrut called him over with a wave of his beggar bowl and a “Trade a coin for your future, master Malbus?”. He had been smiling, daring Baze to chide him. There were wrinkles around his eyes that hadn’t been there seven years ago and his skin was wind-chafed from time spent outside in the streets. He had led Baze through the streets and showed him what had become of The Holy City. Baze had seen many worlds occupied by the Empire but this was his home, his people cowering in doorways as Stormtroopers stomped past. 

They fell into step beside each other naturally, even after so many years and when the sun set and they stopped outside Chirrut’s rooms above a small restaurant, Chirrut had simply waved for Baze to follow him up. They had shared rooms before after all, and beds too when cold nights demanded it. They had arranged themselves on the mattress, suddenly halting and unused to their new dimensions. Baze was broader across the chest than ever before thanks to hauling around a heavy repeat blaster for a couple of years and Chirrut had apparently developed sharp elbows and knees as well as thick, corded arms.  He had adapted to fighting in the narrow streets, most likely, Baze thought although he had yet to see Chirrut in action since he got back. He imagined Chirrut tightening his moves from the sweeping arches he usually did, into swift kicks and punches.

They woke up each morning with Chirrut curled into his side, his breath hot against Baze’s skin. Baze’s arm curled around them more often than not. It was comfortable and flustering at the same time. Right, but different from what they used to have. 

Chirrut’s eyes were closed now but that didn’t have mean he was asleep. Baze stayed still, keeping his breaths steady and deep to feign sleep. Chirrut’s hand moved from the scar on his ribs to rest his palm flat across Baze’s sternum. His hand felt warm and the hard callouses scratched lightly against the soft, unblemished skin on Baze’s stomach.

“Your heart gives you away as usual, Baze.” Chirrut said after a minute, tapping out the exact rhythm of Baze’s pulse against the soft part in the middle of his chest.

“What are you doing, anyway?” Baze grunted and tried to arrange his hair so that it wasn’t draped around his neck like a snare. Thinking of it, it was a wonder that Chirrut hadn’t woken up with a mouthful of hair, attached to baze’s side as he was when he slept.

“You are different now,” Chirrut said and sat up. His blanket slid down and piled around his waist. “Tell me what you look like.”

Chirrut had asked the same question once before, after they first met. As a teenager Baze had been gangly and tall and he hadn’t grown into his ears. Chirrut would later claim that he never grew into them at all. He had guided Chirrut’s hands to touch his shoulder to gauge his height and over his face to feel his features. Chirrut’s hands had drifted across his face, playfully tweaked his nose and followed the frown lines on his forehead.

“So, serious!” He had exclaimed and then amended with a small pat on Baze’s cheek, “I like it”. It had been many years since that day and Baze looked at Chirrut’s face now and saw a different man too. His face had new lines, a faint scar across his cheek and the callouses on his hands were harder. He sat up to face Chirrut, shoving his blanket to the side. The air in the room was chilly and goosebumps broke out all over his arms before he got used to it. He cleared his throat.

“I have long hair now. Down to my back.” He reached out and touched Chirrut’s arm, sliding his hand down the length of it before he took Chirrut’s hand in his. Chirrut followed gamely when Baze guided his hand to rest on top of his head before he let go. Chirrut’s smile grew as he brushed his fingers through the long tresses, smoothing the tangles out as he went.

“To hide your ears?” He teased.

“No, I just couldn’t trust anyone not to slice my throat as soon as I turned my back on them.” Chirrut tsked at Baze’s choice of company. He ran his hands all the way to the tips of Baze’s hair, picking up the two braids at the front and turning them over in his hand, feeling the rough leather cord.

“What else?”

“A beard?” He moved to take Chirrut’s hand again but he had already dropped the braid and cupped Baze’s cheek. The Guardians had always had short hair and been clean shaven, it was a part of their uniform. Carefully, Chirrut felt his way across Baze’s jaw, mapping out the beard and the mustache.He rasped his short nails through the bristly hairs, smiling at the faint scratching noise. The hardened pads of his fingers brushed over Baze’s lips, noting the edges before he moved on up to his cheeks and forehead.

“Still so serious,” he noted, following the line of Baze’s brow and feeling the lines etched in his skin. He slid his hand down to his cheek again and continued down his neck. He followed the line of Baze’s pulse, stuttering against his fingertips as Baze swallowed. Despite the chill, he was beginning to feel very warm.

“What else?”

“Some scars. To your left, starting on my shoulder and going downwards across my chest.” Chirrut hummed and felt for the mottled, raised skin on his shoulder. It wasn’t a slashing scar like the one from the vibroblade, but scattered angry marks that rained down across his left pectoral like a meteor shower. Chirrut took a sharp inhale of breath and raised his other hand to measure the extent of the damage. Two hands long from one end to to the other and almost as wide. A flash memory of the burning shrapnel burying itself into his skin had him breathing heavily. Chirrut moved on. 

Chirrut continued down his chest, his fingers feeling out the ridges and curves on his pectoral muscles and Baze closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths to stop his racing pulse. Although his pulse was elevated and he was beginning to sweat, Baze found the calm exploration of his body almost soothing. Chirrut’s hands and fingers washed over him like the smelly muscle salve they used at the temple, leaving a burning trail in their wake.

“There is one-”

“Shh, I’m looking.”

He was currently feeling his way down Baze’s midriff, where there a few years ago used to be a tapered waist and lean muscle from the strict regime of a Guardian seeking bodily perfection, there now was thick muscle running through his core, giving him a thick barrel-look to his torso. Chirrut’s hands fanned out across his stomach, measuring this new expanse as well.

When he reached the blanket bunched around Baze’s hips, Chirrut stopped and lingered. For the first time ever, Baze sensed hesitation in Chirrut’s movements. In the darkness Baze could make out Chirrut’s shallow breathing and he could feel the small shake in his hands too. He took Chirrut’s hand in his and placed it back over his chest. 

“What does my heart tell you now?”

“Keep going.”

“So keep going,” Baze said and peeled the blanket away from himself, shoving it to the side. He was half-hard in underwear already, a wet spot forming on the dark fabric.  

Neither of them were virgins. Chirrut had always been adventurous, even at the temple and although Baze had kept his dalliances to a minimum in Ni Jedha, that certainly hadn’t applied when he got off-world. The drinking and the sex had been very good distractions, for a while. He didn’t want to tell Chirrut about all the things he had done, all the things he had seen but he figured Chirrut would know anyway. 

Baze guided Chirrut’s hand back down his stomach and pressed pressed it against his swelling cock, cupping it through the fabric. Chirrut gasped softly but quickly started to move his palm, squeezing and mapping out the size of the length. He hummed appreciatively and Baze laughed. The laugh ended abruptly in a choked sound when Chirrut moved his hand to properly stroke him through his underwear. The wet pull of the fabric over his swollen cock made him thrust his hips upwards to meet his hand.

Chirrut put his other hand on Baze’s chest and pushed until Baze laid back down on the mattress and put both hands on his hips, gently urging him to lift so that he could get his underwear off. Chirrut had managed to slip out of his own blanket and quickly clambered to kneel between Baze’s legs when he’d shoved his underwear down and off. Even in the dark, Baze would make out his broad shoulders, legs and torso rippling with muscle as he moved. Chirrut felt his way up Baze’s legs, broad hands stroking up his thighs and fingers digging into the hard muscles there. 

He felt Chirrut’s hot breath along the inside of his thigh, the tip of his nose just touching the sensitive skin as he moved upward. Right at the juncture between his leg and crotch, he smiled and bared his teeth before taking Baze’s cock in his hand and licking in broad strokes all the way to the crown where he’d formed his hand into a fist. Baze swore and kicked his heels back into the mattress. He searched blindly for any part of Chirrut to hold onto, slid his hand across his shoulders and neck. His hair was too short to get any sort of grip into but he raked his fingers through it anyway and Chirrut leaned into it, like a pet felinx. 

Chirrut groaned around him when he finally took Baze’s cock in his mouth, letting the head slip in and out between his lips a few times. He started with quick, shallow movements, pressing his tongue to the frenulum. Baze could feel saliva and precome drip down his length.

“Baze, give me your hand,” Chirrut said and waved impatiently with one hand for Baze to take it. He moved to take Baze into his mouth again and guided his hand to his cheek and lips, making him feel the stretch of them around his cock and how he filled his mouth. Baze groaned loudly, a hoarse breathless sound tearing itself from his throat. He wanted desperately to see Chirrut now, see precome and spit running down his chin and his cheeks stained with blush. But the darkness made him feel every little movement, hear every breath catch and release to the point where it was overwhelming.

Chirrut let his hands fall to the mattress on each side of Baze’s hips, letting Baze’s hands cradle his head and cheek. And slowly he let Baze’s cock slide deeper into his mouth until the head hit the back of his throat, slowly lifted off again and then ever so slowly slid back down onto it. Baze was sure he was going to strain something with how much he was locking his muscles up not to move. Carefully he pressed down on the back of Chirrut’s head to guide him into a faster pace, feeling for any resistance from Chirrut. None came and Chirrut moved faster, swallowing more of Baze’s cock, deeper and sloppier.

After a few aborted thrusts with his hips, Chirrut moved his right hand to swat Baze against his hip. He made a gesture to mean “move” when Baze looked at him and Baze groaned again. He bucked his hips once, twice carefully not to give more than Chirrut could take. Naturally, it earned him another swat across his flank. So Baze adjusted his grip on Chirrut’s head until he had both resting comfortably on each side of his face. He thrusted upwards at the same time as he lowered Chirrut onto his cock and down, down until he could feel his cock head slip past his tongue and into his throat. Chirrut’s nose was pressed against the sparse hair at the root of his cock and he breathed forcefully out of his nose.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” he gasped and thrust into Chirrut’s throat in a few quick strokes before spilling. In a daze, he felt how Chirrut swallowed around him, muscles working in his throat. Baze slumped back onto the mattress and he felt and heard his softening length slip out of Chirrut’s mouth with an obscene, wet sound.

“What do you think the old Grandmaster would say if he knew you were using his breathing techniques for blow jobs?”

Chirrut just laughed hoarsely, for once at a loss for words. He was resting his head against Baze’s thigh, smearing saliva across the skin. He was panting heavily and lazily gyrating his hips against the mattress. 

“Come here,” Baze said and dragged him up to drape across his chest. Chirrut buried his face into Baze’s neck and panted as he shoved Chirrut’s underwear down just far enough to take his cock in his hand. He put his other hand on his ass, pushing Chirrut into his fist. He felt Chirrut’s hand on his cheek, turning his face so that their lips could meet. It wasn’t much of a kiss, admittedly, they slotted their mouths together between groans and gasps, breathing eachother’s air before Chirrut came into his hand. He felt Chirrut’s cock pulse in his hand and come slipping down his knuckles. 

With one hand he reached for one of the blankets and carefully rand the scratchy fabric over Chirrut to clan him off and then did the same to his hand. Chirrut slumped unceremoniously off Baze’s chest and rolled onto the mattress beside him until he was on his back, much further away than he’d been when they went to sleep.

“I’m not sleeping in the wet spot,” he declared, his voice still a little raw.

“I suppose you don’t want this blanket either, then?” Baze asked pointedly, shoving the stained blanket to the side.

“No, but I could be persuaded to share mine.” Chirrut graciously held the second blanket open so that Baze could slip in under it and curl close to Chirrut’s side. Outside, a cold sun rose over Jedha, light slipping in through the broken window cover.


End file.
